


the prince of snakes hunts them

by EssayOfThoughts



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Animagus, Animagus Tom Riddle (Harry Potter), Character Study, Gen, Magical Theory (Harry Potter), mild romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 14:41:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16683535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EssayOfThoughts/pseuds/EssayOfThoughts
Summary: People, Tom knows, can change, and Tom wants to make sure that some parts of him can’t. His hatred for the purebloods beating him and his friends down: that deserves to stay. His distrust of his own house: that’s justsmart.His eagerness to learn, his curiosity: that’s essential.And an Animagus form is the best way to ensure it.





	the prince of snakes hunts them

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Harry Potter and The Secret Enemy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15829326) by [TheSinister_Man](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSinister_Man/pseuds/TheSinister_Man). 



> Written for the second POS-Prompt Challenge. I came second. Many thanks to [PanBoleyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PanBoleyn/pseuds/PanBoleyn) for their help picking out Tom's animagus form.

There are many magical arts in the world. Tom’s already delved into several. Some he should - all his school classes, and extensions thereof. Alchemy is fascinating, but he doesn’t have the time for it any more than he has the time to explore potions. He’s read the theory but can’t practice any of it, not with exams on the way, not with the constant ongoing battle to be recognised as something other than the mudblood Slytherin by his housemates. Occlumency, Legilimency… they’re time consuming but come easier to him. Legilimency is almost basic, easier than walking, talking, riding a bike. Its like blinking, like his heartbeat. Like his very breath.

To the Ancient Egyptians, one’s breath, he recalls, was a part of one’s soul - it made translations of Hieroglyphs very confusing. But that’s what Legilimency is to him: something as simple and basic and intrinsic to who he is as his soul.

Other arts are harder, others are easier. His classes are almost _too_ easy, sometimes, but then he studies all the moments he can. He refuses to let his housemates define him. He knows they’d all love to see him fail, to prove their pureblood superiority, and he won’t give them the satisfaction, any more than he’d let the older boys at the orphanage prove their strength against his. Quidditch holds no real interest for him, but Defence is something he excels in, as much from practice and need as simple innate flair. Too many of his house like to hex him as it is - some days he wonders when it’s going to progress to outright curses.

Currently, though, he’s reading about Transfiguration. Metamorphmagi, after all, require the innate talent, be it latent or already present. He’s a muggle-born. He might as well turn to phrenology for his legilimency for all the good attempting to learn Metamorphmagism will do him. But _Ani_ magism. That is something he can yet do.

 

* * *

 

“It’s terribly dangerous, Tom,” Myrtle says. “Isn’t it?” They’re sat in the far corner of the library, waiting for the rest of their study group. She’s perched on the end of the table, swinging her feet back and forth like some of the smaller children at the orphanage do.

“Only if it goes wrong,” Tom assures her.

Myrtle bites her lip. “It’s _easy_ to get wrong. That’s what the Professors say.”

Tom shrugs, tries to project confidence. “Maybe for others,” he says, and grins. “But I’m not in the top five of the year for nothing.”

Shyly, Myrtle smiles back. Her cheeks are pink.

 

* * *

 

Animagism is a complex art. That’s what all the books say. _To summon up an animal form requires that one know oneself utterly, and accept it. Though at base not much more than a transfiguration - albeit a self transfiguration that requires one dictate the beginning and end before casting under any other circumstance - Animagery is esoteric for several reasons as it is not so simple as a spell to be spoken._

Step one: Know oneself.

Tom’s spent most of his life without many friends. If there’s anyone he knows, its his own self.

Animagism is a time-consuming art. That’s just inferred. _To know oneself one should learn all one can about one’s family and history. Even one’s name can indicate what form one may take, and it is for this reason that some parents will seek out Name Seers and nomenographers of other types to help decide the name of offspring. When these offer no hope for identifying one’s possible form, then one may turn to other esoteric arts and spells. The simplest option would be the Patronus, but this is by no means exact._

Step two: know your background.

Tom barely knows his family - he’s an orphan whose mother died birthing him. His father was presumably some careless layabout, possibly magical, who left  his magic-less mother with no recourse but Wool’s. What family he has he’s made for himself. He supposes his Animagus form will have to be much the same - something he carves out for himself, with strength and sweat and blood.

Animagism is dangerous. That’s the one that’s repeated. _Many who attempt to learn Animagery may find themselves caught unprepared if they do not know exactly what they are doing. Attempting to take one’s form before one is ready can cause one to become a shapeless, formless thing, the essence of a being without any component parts. Alternatively, if one does not know one’s form but succeeds in changing shape, one may find oneself only partially transformed or, worse, unable to handle the new senses, sensations and requirements of their form. Several aquatic animagi have drowned in air as a result of this, while others have been unable to overcome animal instincts, resulting in the wizards becoming beasts completely._

Step three: take your time.

Tom has no intention of rushing this. He needs to prove his housemates wrong by being the best, yes, but he won’t do that if he makes a mistake somewhere along the way. After all, if one makes too many mistakes in the process, one will never succeed.

Lastly - an Animagus form is forever, and it will leave its mark. _An animagus form is the truest representation of one’s soul. While a Patronus may change, taking influence from the more transient aspects of one’s personality and life, an Animagus represents one’s base principles. Not one’s ideals or values, not one’s hopes or dreams, but who one is at one’s core. Even a form influenced by personal identity, name and the meanings thereof will also take influence from who one is as a person - specific species, breed and even individual mutations of a specimen can all indicate aspects of permanent personality that taking on an Animagus form anchors into place forever. After one becomes an animagus, certain risks of personality shifts are erased; the aspects of identity cemented in one’s Animagus form, once taken, cannot be given up except by certain rites of the Darkest Arts._

Step four: be sure you want it.

Tom doesn’t think he’s been more certain of anything in his life. Legilimency, Occlumency… these things come easily to him yes, but he’s been unable to find any books except in Knockturn, and he’s disinclined to trust those. He could use these to shape his mind forever, to make him one thing unable to change, but he knows that some fluidity is needed - he must be able to take risks, and to know when a risk is reckless. He’s learning - with help from a book - to analyse and apportion his emotions with Occlumency, yes, but its not as easy as his Legilimency, and he doesn’t think he trusts all of what the book says. The idea you can cut out all of one’s emotions with a single surgical strike of Occlumency almost offends him - don’t wizards know that emotion is more than the mind? That it’s the heart and soul, the body’s own responses?

People, Tom knows, can change, no matter how hard they try to be unchanging. His house refuses to accept him, but even they will grudgingly accept he’s not incapable of considerable magic. The magical world seeks to see him as no more than a mudblood, but even Borgin & Burke's has made some small noise about maybe employing him when his time at school is done.

Myrtle, in first year, wouldn’t have looked at him. Now he’s who she turns to first.

People, Tom knows, can change, and Tom wants to make sure that some parts of him _can’t_ . His hatred for the purebloods beating him and his friends down: that deserves to stay. His distrust of his own house: that’s just _smart._ His eagerness to learn, his curiosity: that’s essential.

And an Animagus form is the best way to ensure it.

 

* * *

 

There’s a plain ahead, a series of rocky outcrops to his sides and at his back. He can feel the cool wind passing between them and out to the dusty grassland ahead of them, all dull gold-yellow-beige. The sun is bright, almost heavy with the heat it presses down. He can feel it in his fur, strong and pushing him close to the ground. When he looks up the sky is a clear and piercingly pale blue, almost like Professor Dumbledore’s eyes when he’s watching a student. Bright. Clear. Piercing. Impossible to ignore. There’s sprouts of grass the same colour as the dirt, and occasional shrubs, branches slightly browner.

There’s noise too, cicadas or crickets, a clamouring cacophony of them, a drone of wings and legs and insectoid singing. He can feel soft vibrations in the ground, but its faint, and he can hear birdsongs far off; calls that cannot come from anywhere in England.

And the _smells._ He can smell dung of at least six different types, as well as sweet honey from a beehive, the festering meat of an old kill, the raw liquid fluid of a cracked open egg - and echoing it behind it the _chi chi chi_ of a newly hatched chick crying out for food. He smells again, and smells another thing like him, a little to one side and ahead. Its running a circle and between them-

Scales. Cold blooded. A soft sound of sand against skin as something uncurls. His hunting companion lets out a cry and whatever the thing is, it darts towards him, trying to get away from his companion’s sharp teeth.

Tom’s ready. As it flies out of the underbrush, he catches its neck in his teeth. With a shake he hears it snap and he sets it down.

It’s a cobra, hood slowly deflating in death. There’s a rustle, and his companion comes out of the brush.

And Tom gets the first look at what his form is.

 

* * *

 

A mongoose. A black mongoose - as black as his hair, with dark eyes to match. When he pulls himself out of his trance he almost laughs. It’s perfect.

After all, he remembers, _all_ varieties of mongoose hunt snakes.

 

* * *

 

“Tom what’s going on?”

Myrtle’s voice is soft but not scared. It’s curious if anything, and a little teasing. After all, he’s tugged her away from their usual group for this, just them on their own, and it’s not like he hasn’t noticed her smiles and blushes. She’s rather sweet, besides, and very kind once you’re someone she trusts - anytime any of their study group ends up in the hospital wing she’s usually the first there, already holding their hands and offering comfort.

“I wanted to show you,” he says, once the door is shut behind them. It’s an empty classroom, desks pushed to the sides, and the blackboard long pulled away for a use elsewhere. Myrtle, of course, grasps his meaning immediately.

“Oh! You managed it!”

He smiles. “Just the other day,” he says. “It’s a little difficult still, but I wanted to show you before anyone else.” He sets his bag on an old desk, and Myrtle perches beside it, feet swinging. She’s smiling, eager, and he steps into the middle of the room.

He transforms. The world goes huge around him.

“Oh! You’re beautiful.”

He hears the whisper of cloth, the soft _thudthud_ of a pair of feet on the ground, and then again as she steps close.

A hand reaches down, gentle and careful. He sniffs it, and memorises the smell. _Myrtle. Friend. Family._ Gently the hand moves over his head, presses softly against the fur of his back. She strokes him almost as though he’s a cat, and it’s surprisingly soothing. He can almost understand the way Rosier’s kneazle preens under its master’s hands if this is how it feels.

“You’re lovely,” Myrtle assures him, taking a step back. “What _are_ you, though?”

It takes a moment before he can make his way back to human form, but he smiles when he does so all the same. “A mongoose,” he tells her, “And it’s given me an idea.”

 

* * *

 

“You’re _mad,”_ Nobby tells him. “You’re absolutely _bonkers._ ”

“He’s _brilliant,”_ Claudia says. “That’s _genius.”_

“Think about it,” Tom says. “If there’s a threat that’s only targeting us, who will everyone blame? Slytherin. House rivalry is bad enough just over points, imagine if blood purity gets dragged into it - how your houses will respond.”

“And yours.” Myrtle, of course. “If they think everyone’s blaming them for us being hurt then they’ll rally around you. Make you their friend to try to shift the suspicion.”

“‘Oh look,’” says Mildred. “‘This mud’s our friend.’”

“You’re _mad,”_ Nobby says again. “Let’s do it.”

All they need is a threat, after all. And Tom Riddle knows where they can find one of those.

 

* * *

 

Then: blood on porcelain. A young girl, head cracked open, and paralysed with a stare.

A scalpel, with surgical precision, cutting out his emotions.

No more love. No more kindness. No more soft affection and trust.

Tom looks back at his Animagus form, at his soft _weak_ desires, and resolves to never take it again. The snake hunter, when he speaks to snakes. The snake hunter, when he leads snakes.

The snake hunter, when he is _prince_ of snakes.

No. It cannot be allowed.

And yet… he never seeks out the darkest rites to cleanse himself of it. Never removes the framework of it from his mind.

And when he hunts, the old principles come back:

Hate the purebloods. They are the ones who did this to you.

Distrust your House. Everyone is out to get you.

Learn all you can. No one must ever best you.

 

* * *

 

The prince of snakes hunts them.

 

* * *

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> The _ka_ portion of the Egyptian soul was one’s personality, breathed into them by the gods. For a long time it was interpreted, in part, as being the breath of life, and it's only recently that other interpretations came about, with current consensus having it as a “Vital essence” or “vital spark”, though “breath of life” is still sometimes seen in some texts. Thus Riddle interpreting it in the older manner, based on his time period.
> 
> Tom’s form is a black mongoose. While they are less likely to hunt than other mongooses, they will on occasionally, usually rock hyraxes and birds, but, like all mongooses, lizards and snakes are on the menu. Male black mongooses will also sometimes form pairs to hunt, which helps them with larger prey.
> 
> Please leave comments!


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